<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Scheherazade by Exytrash</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23623003">Scheherazade</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exytrash/pseuds/Exytrash'>Exytrash</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:41:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,812</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23623003</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exytrash/pseuds/Exytrash</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathaniel's transferred to Hogwarts during his last year of studies. He has no interest in sticking it out at his new school for the entire academic year-- this was a temporary solution to a wretched problem that he'd rather forget. The sooner he can heal and leave, the better.<br/>But a particular student catches his attention, and Nathaniel can't seem to divert himself. Will he let himself be swayed after all?</p><p>Hogwarts!Au but make it hurt/comfort</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Scheherazade</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>It's been literal years since I've last written a fic, but I wanted to try my hand at it again!<br/>This is an incredibly new concept that I haven't really planned out yet tbqh. I wanted to get some feedback before I progressed any further, especially since I'm primarily writing this for personal gain. If this gets some track (and I mean, like, two kudos because my standards are stupid low) then I'll be changing this first chapter and expanding upon it.<br/>Feedback would be super helpful!</p><p>*Update: I've edited this chapter and expanded some more on the backstory. I think it reads a lot better this way.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake<br/>and dress them in warm clothes again.<br/>How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running<br/>until they forget that they are horses.<br/>It’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere,<br/>it’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio"</p><p>-Richard Siken, <em>Scheherazade</em></p><p> </p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <strong>
    <span class="s1">HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY</span>
  </strong>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p class="p3">
    <span class="s1">Dear Mr. Nathaniel Wesninski,</span>
  </p>
  <p class="p3"> </p>
  <p class="p3">
    <span class="s1"> We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.</span>
  </p>
  <p class="p3">
    <span class="s1">Term begins on 1 September, although (as it was discussed in your meeting with Headmaster Albus Dumbledore earlier this month) Hogwarts has agreed to grant you special permission to come to our grounds a week early. We await your arrival on 25 August.</span>
  </p>
  <p class="p3"> </p>
  <p class="p3">
    <span class="s1">Yours sincerely,</span>
  </p>
  <p class="p3"> </p>
  <p class="p3">
    <em>
      <span class="s1">Minerva McGonagall</span>
    </em>
  </p>
  <p class="p3">
    <em>
      <span class="s1">Deputy Headmistress</span>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> The arrival of the letter had, in part, been overshadowed by the looming anxiety Nathaniel faced whenever he thought of the reaction this news would get. His decision, a seemingly furtive ordeal, had become common knowledge in Castle Evermore within a week. Jean, of course, knew from the day the letter had shown by owl. He had thrown the envelope viciously at Nathaniel, staying only long enough to hiss a quiet, “You’re a goddamn coward” before stalking out of their shared bedroom. But it wasn’t Jean that Nathaniel feared.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> No, there were worse demons still.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> He had told himself that the hardest part was over. The ultimate act of rebellion had already been committed— he was merely watching as the dominos came crashing towards him. All he would have to do now was <em>wait</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> The decision had come to him in a half-dream state, a poisonous whisper that promised him something precariously close to <em>hope</em>. The entire notion of escape was a delusion, something he could only consider when he was high off pills and dangling too close to the edge of desperation— something that only occurred to him when he entered one of his desolate moods in the far-reaching dark of his dorm room when he saw with shocking clarity how truly fucked the world was and how, like Jean often reminded him, <em>a golden cage is still a cage</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> Seventeen years he’d been stuck here. Seventeen years spent wasting away in this windowless dungeon that dared call itself a kingdom. <em>Castle Evermore: Academy for the best and brightest</em>. Nathaniel thought there wasn’t a larger farce in the world.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> “Don’t you get tired of it?” He had asked during one of their study sessions in the castle’s library.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> Jean’s voice, thick with exhaustion that matched Nathaniel’s, asked: “Of what?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> “Of… this.” He gesticulated at the space around them. “Of Evermore. Of Riko. All of it.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> “It’s all I’ve known,” Jean whispers simply. “All you’ve known, as well, might I remind you. No use in fighting it.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> “Isn’t there?” He says, closing his book. “What, with what Kevin did—”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> “Nathaniel,” Jean warned, pen stilling.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> “I mean it. If he could, why not us?”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> “You know why not. He’ll <em>torture</em> you.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> “But Kevin got <em>away</em>, Jean. He did what we all thought was just a pipe dream—”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> Jean snapped his own studying materials shut, whisking them away with a wave of his hand where they floated back towards their respective places. “I don’t think you understand the scope of what you’re implying.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> “You and I both know I’m too impulse to think through anything worthwhile.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> “When Riko finds out—”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> “<em>If</em> he finds out…”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> “<em>When</em>,” Jean repeated. “When he finds out…” He shakes his head. “You’re a dead man walking.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> Nathaniel leans closer, whispering harshly, “You’re talking like I’ve got something to lose— like there’s something still left for that fucking bastard to take. He can’t <em>touch</em> me.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> “He can,” Jean says with a shake of his head. “God, you’ve really no idea what more he can take from you. What more he can take from <em>me</em> if you do this—”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> “Then come <em>with me</em>, Jean. We’ve been through this.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> “You know well enough why I can’t. Now drop this before you get us both murdered.”</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> It had effectively shut Nathaniel up and signaled the end to the same conversation they’d been having for months.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> The rules of Castle Evermore were simple: do as you’re told. Attend your courses, play your matches, and stay in line. Wash, rinse, repeat. It had been easy enough when Nathaniel was young. He’d shown promise to the castle’s Headmaster, Tetsuji Moriyama, and had been signed to start an updated curriculum plan as well as join the castle’s Quidditch team. It was, in the eyes of a ten-year-old, a dream come true.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> The older Nathaniel got, however, the more rigorous his training became. By the time he had entered his fourth year, the strain had been striking, driving Nathaniel into irrational frenzies at the best of times. He still remembers the first night Kevin had pressed a round pill into Nathaniel’s palm after a particularly bad practice with the promise of, “It helps. trust me.” He had started taking them on an as-needed basis, a way to wind down in their later years when Riko began to get bold with his “punishments.” But the relief had been something Nathaniel hungered for, the sensation seemingly the only thing keeping him afloat.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> And now that Kevin— his one and only support system he knew of— had left… And Riko was still rampant on tormenting the members of the castle… It had all become too intolerable. His home had transformed into something unbearable and confined.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> The night Nathaniel had written the letter he had drunk all of his and Jean’s stash of tiny liquor bottles. He hadn’t intended to write it when he sat down at his desk, but alcohol made him too melodramatic for his own good. He had turned on his and Jean’s cheap radio to listen to classical music (the only channel reachable so far underground), picked up a quill and parchment and wrote until his hand cramped under the weight of it all. The wave he was riding from the booze had been the only thing propelling him to sign his name at the bottom of the letter, stuff it into an envelope, and send it off before anybody noticed.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> The full effects of what he had done hadn’t been apparent until he got a response. </span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> <em>We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.</em></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> It didn’t seem as if it should have been that easy— sending a letter to the Headmaster of another Wizarding school, asking to transfer. And yet… And yet…</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Quidditch pitch. Midnight</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> Nathaniel had burned the first letter to protect himself, but from this, he had somehow convinced himself that he had fabricated this in his head. The arrival of the second letter had surprised him enough that he feared he might die from shock.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> The wait between letters had been agonizing and filled with worry, the entire month stretching into one long, harrowing stretch of time. Days had mingled with nights, practice the only tell if it was light or dark outside the castle walls. Nathaniel had miraculously managed to keep Riko and the Headmaster out of the loop, though he could most certainly attribute that to Jean’s aptitude to secret-keeping. <em>I don’t agree with this, but I know I can’t stop you. You’re just like Day in that way— nothing I could say would be able to stop either of you. I’ll keep my mouth shut until Riko realizes what’s been done.</em></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> And now that night was here. Nathaniel checked the clock on the dark lounge wall. 11:50. Jean had agreed to meet him here. <em>I’ll apparate you and your trunk to the fields. After that, you’re on your own. Who’re you meeting again?</em></span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> But Nathaniel didn’t know the answer to that question. A Hogwarts employee, certainly. The note had only those three words: Quidditch pitch. Midnight. The only indicator of the identity of his rescuer was written on the envelope: A small <em>W</em> had been scratched on the back in black ink. He couldn’t remember a name starting with the letter W from what he’d read about Hogwarts.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> He checked the time again.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> 11:55.</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> Where the hell was Jean? He wouldn’t have dragged him into this whole mess tonight, but Nathaniel didn’t know how to apparate by himself yet. He had hardly even practiced it any of his courses. Without Jean… God, how would he ever get out?</span>
</p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> That’s when he heard it: a slamming and crashing coming from a distant hallway. And then:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“Fucking stand, you useless shit.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Jean came sprawling into the lounge, barely avoiding tripping over a table as he was pursued by Riko, who grabbed a fistful of the other boy’s collar and pulled him close.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Thought we were being sneaky, were we? Wandering through the castle at night?” Riko asks, tone acidic. “Thought the two of you were being so <em>goddamn</em> clever?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Get your hands off him,” Nathaniel snarls.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Bold today, are we?” Riko tuts. “Big mistake.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Just <em>go</em>, Nathaniel,” Jean begs. There’s already a nasty welt forming along his cheekbone. “<em>Please</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Riko yanks him harder, pulling out his wand and pressing it under Jean’s throat with his free hand when Nathaniel steps forward to stop him. “Get back in line, Wesninski.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “<em>Let go of him.</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Nath— Just leave!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I’m not going anywhere without you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Yes,” Jean hisses, tugging at something dangling from his neck, “you are.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Nathaniel is catching what’s thrown at him before he registers what it is. But he doesn’t have the time to look. He immediately feels as though he’s being pulled and stretched, body going impossibly long and taunt until—</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> He lands on hard ground with a yell, face buried in… was that grass? He struggles to sit up, gasping hard, and finds himself in a field. It’s well past dusk, but Nathaniel can still make out the distinctive hoops of a Quidditch pitch and the towering stands for onlookers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> When he looks back down at his hand, he can also catch a glimmer of light flashing against metal. In his palm lies Jean’s key, the one for his home back in France. A Portkey. Jean had made him a Portkey. Had he known this was going to happen? Or was he just more prepared than Nathaniel would ever be?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Fuck,” He groans, grabbing for his head. “Fuck, fuck.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Ah,” a voice from behind him says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> When Nathaniel wheels around to look, he’s greeted by an unfamiliar man looking down at him wearily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You must be Nathaniel,” he says. “Name’s Wymack. You ready to get the fuck out of here?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading this ridiculous (albeit very short) trainwreck! Hopefully, I'll be able to write more if people enjoy the bones for this concept.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>